


The League

by Im_All_Teeth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Children, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Kids Are Gross, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Parenthood, Pee wee quidditch, Quidditch, but also cute?, kids eat bugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 03:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20959721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_All_Teeth/pseuds/Im_All_Teeth
Summary: Draco Malfoy takes Pee Wee Quidditch very, very seriously. Scorpius and James eat bugs. Hermione bets Ginny who will throw the first punch.





	The League

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on ff.net 9/1/14. Cleaned up to publish here today.  
I've taken liberties with the ages of the children in this fic, but I've also taken liberties with the romantic pairings, so I hope no one's too miffed about it.
> 
> Thanks for reading, friends.

Draco woke with the sun and padded out onto the balcony. The dawn was breaking pink and gold and red. _As good a day as any_, he thought. _The weather will be good, and we'll have the advantage._ With a shake of his head, he went back inside and looked at the figures sleeping on the bed.

He cleared his throat and said, "Rise and shine Little Hippogriffs. Today we fight for Malfoy honor."

Hermione opened one bleary eye and glared at him through the mass of chestnut curls plastered to her face. "The match starts at one in the afternoon, Draco. If you do not shut up and let me sleep, I will make you."

Having said her very disturbing peace, she closed her eyes and with a sigh, drifted off to sleep. Scorpius buried his face deeper in his mother's hair and continued snoring.

* * *

Ginny was, as usual, the first one awake. For her, morning sickness came early (about 3 am) and stayed late (into the second trimester).

All through the James pregnancy and for the first third of the Albus pregnancy, Harry Potter had risen with his wife and hovered in the doorway, looking green, while Ginny vomited up every food she'd ever eaten and several she was pretty sure she hadn't.

But this was Ginny Potter's third pregnancy, and as a parent of two, Harry had learned that sleep was a precious and limited commodity.

"I'm pulling for you, honey," he called from the bedroom. By the muffled timbre of his voice, Ginny suspected he was still face-down in the pillows.

Ginny, resting her forehead on the cold rim of the toilet, glared at a tangled snarl of hair that had gotten lodged in the corner. "Are you even awake?" she snapped back.

"You're doing great," was the muffled reply. "I love you."

Ginny managed about 50% of an oath before her stomach clenched, and she heaved again. 

Out in the house beyond the bedroom, Albus Severus began to wail for breakfast.

* * *

Generally-speaking, Hermione spent Sunday through Tuesday swearing up and down that there would be no formal Saturday brunch next week. She was putting her foot down. Enough was enough. They didn't have to live their lives on Narcissa's schedule, and she wasn't going to do it anymore. But on Wednesdays, Hermione and Narcissa met at The Three Broomsticks for a two-witch bookclub and drinks. (Narcissa was a voracious reader and scathing critic, two qualities that immediately endeared her to her daughter-in-law.) As a result, Hermione would spend Thursdays and Fridays thinking the approaching Saturday wouldn't be too bad. Narcissa was fantastic company if a bit stuck in her own world.

On Saturday, Hermione always wondered if Narcissa knew how insufferable she was and maintained their weekly book club for the sole purpose of returning to Hermione's good graces in time to ensure an invitation to brunch. 

Saturday brunch at the Malfoy-Granger household was a mid-morning affair for which the entire family had to be present, dressed, and ready to deal with Narcissa. On Narcissa's schedule. Even Scorpius was dressed and picking at his eggs from his booster seat.

"I don't know why you have him in that contraption," Narcissa commented over the rim of her mug.

Hermione closed her eyes, counted backward from ten, and took a sip of tea before answering. "Because he's too short to reach the table on his own, Narcissa." 

"So? Just charm the chair legs longer. It's what we did for Draco." 

The same critical eye, which was deliciously engaging when directed at Bagshot or Scamander, was spectacularly annoying when directed at Hermione's parenting skills."And what happens when he falls out of his chair?" Hermione asked, her voice high and tight.

Across the table, Draco spooned more eggs onto their only child's already-heaping plate. "Be sure to eat a good breakfast, Scorpius. You need your strength."

"I'm not hungry," protested the boy, whose curly blonde hair and bright brown eyes made him positively cherubic, even as he used his spoon to scoop egg off of his plate and onto the table between him and his father. "You eat it. Can I have ice cream?"

"No need to worry about that," Narcissa waved her hand, either oblivious to or uncaring of the tone Hermione had adopted. "If he falls, he falls. Kids bounce back. It builds character. Why, Draco fell more times than I can count, and look how he turned out."

"You can have ice cream if you win the match today," Draco said in a low voice.

Hermione's head whipped toward her husband, eyes narrowed. She let out a low, wordless hiss, too done with the entire Malfoy family to form words.

"What?" asked the man she had chosen to marry as he shrank back in his chair, gray eyes going wide. "I did say _if_."

"And it's an eye-sore," Narcissa continued. "Couldn't you at least change the color of it? Red is so garish and matches nothing in the decor."

* * *

"James!" Ginny bellowed up the stairs so loudly the portraits along the walls winced and clapped hands over their ears. Ginny ignored them. "Get up! You're going to be late!"

She waited until the boy appeared on the landing, rubbing his eyes, his glasses askew.

"It's about time," she huffed, her arms folded over her dirty apron. "Come down here for breakfast." By the time he reached the bottom step, Ginny was already back in the kitchen, spooning pureed pumpkin into baby Albus's mouth. Albus, without any fuss, spat every mouthful out onto his mother's apron.

"Morning, Champ!" said Harry from the stove where he was tending to the bacon.

James pushed his chair back and clambered onto it. He was not big enough to see over the edge of the table when properly seated, so he sat on his knees instead and reached across the table to the serving platter. He grabbed a strip of bacon in each hand and sat back to eat.

From her position beside Albus's highchair, Ginny could just see James' unruly mop of black hair as he ate.

"Harry," she called over her shoulder.

"James," said Harry, who snatched a plate out of the cabinet and hustled over to the table. "Use a plate." 

"What for?" asked James. 

* * *

"Please don't," Draco begged, his voice low with desperation.

"Can you think of an alternative?" Hermione answered, still looking around the bedroom. She was checking inside the massive toy chest at the foot of Scorpius's bed.

"We don't need-" Draco began, and then stopped, "He doesn't need-"

Hermione whirled on him, a stuffed niffler in one hand that she raised and pointed at him like a wand. Or a sword. Or one of those muggle killing sticks. What were they called? Oh, right. A gun. She pointed the stuffed niffler at him like a gun. "Yes. He. Does." She shook the stuffed animal with each word. It jingled happily. "No child of mine will be brain damaged just because his father felt the need to sign him up for this ludicrous caricature of sport to fulfill some deep-seated, asinine competitive urges."

Hermione's glare could have set fire to the arctic.

Draco wondered if his mother had said something particularly vexing at breakfast, but after nearly a decade as Hermione's (less clever, but better-dressed) half, he knew better than to ask. 

"Alright, alright." He raised his hands in surrender. "He'll wear the helmet. I hid it in the spare broom closet. I'll go get it." 

In the doorway, he paused and turned back to look at his wife. She was replacing stuffed animals in the toy chest, hair enormous with anger. 

"I love you," he said. "You're a good mother."

She paused, looked up at him, and smiled. "Just go get the helmet."

"As you say, my heart." 

* * *

"Accio kneepads!" Shouted Ginny with a wave of her wand.

Somewhere on the second floor, there was the unmistakeable crash of splintering wood.

Harry paused in his attempts to force a wriggling Albus into a purple and orange onesie. "That sounded like our bedroom."

"What?" Ginny paused in her mumbled litany of items they were supposed to bring. "Oh, yeah. I guess so."

Harry winced. Magic could fix whatever had been broken, but he sometimes wondered what Sirius would have said about the destruction his family wrought on Grimmauld Place. _Nice work_, probably. Or _Go for the dining room wallpaper next_. It twisted his heart. Albus's tiny leg finally found the onesie's leghole, and he kicked his father in the nose.

The kneepads zoomed into Ginny's waiting hands.

"Why were they in our bedroom?" Harry asked, leaning over his son to do up the onesie's buttons. He paused. Sniffed.

"Merlin knows. Is Albus dressed?"

"Gin," Harry said slowly.

"Hm? Harry, there are holes in James' uniform—you're better at mending spells than I am."

"When was the last time we changed Albus?"

Ginny looked up, swore, and took the baby from Harry, and whirled off to the changing station.

"You didn't hear that, James," Harry said as he pulled out his wand. "Arms up."

Obediently, James held his hands out away from his body. "Hear what?"

Harry didn't like the tedium of mending spells, but he hated them less than Ginny did, so that made them his responsibility. "What your mother said. How did you get so many holes in this?"

"What did my mother say?"

Harry told him.

* * *

Draco was walking back upstairs to fetch the brooms when he felt a harsh tug on his shoulder, and before he knew it, he was inside a coat closet. It smelled like cedar and dust. A jacket hit him in the face as the door slammed shut behind him.

"Silencio," murmured a soft voice from beside him.

He inhaled sharply, taking in the familiar scents of tea-tree oil and coffee and leaned down to catch Hermione's mouth with his own. Draco, ever the opportunist, did not allow the fact that he had no idea what he'd done to deserve this keep him from enjoying it. He bent his neck slightly, deepening the kiss and pulling her hair into a fist with one hand.

She moaned, her small hands pressing against his chest, then, "Wait," she said breathlessly, breaking away.

He kissed the line of her jaw, the lobe of her ear. "You were the one who accosted me, Granger," he said against her jumping pulse. "All these years and you're still accosting me in closets. If I didn't know better, I'd suspect you liked sneaking around like this. Do you like it, Granger? The secrecy?" 

She sucked in a sharp breath and against the front of his robes, her hands crushed into fists. "Ye—no," she said and pushed him back.

"No?" he echoed dumbly, stepping away but bringing his hands up to cover hers. _Yes, she does,_ insisted his mind. _You must have misheard her. We've done this before. A lot. This is the part where she says yes, she likes the secrecy and you say, then you'll have to prove it and no matter what _you_ do, she can't make any sound and then—_

"This is not an illicit rendezvous."

"It isn't?" _Why not? _He ran the pads of his thumbs over the backs of her knuckles.

"No. I just...your mother is out there, and I wanted to talk to you in private."

Nothing kills the mood like talking about his mother. He dropped his hands and would have leaned against the far wall if an extremely thick cloak hadn't gotten in his way. 

"Promise you'll behave today," she said.

It was gratifying to note that she was still breathless, but not gratifying enough to justify talking about his _mother_ in a _coat closet_. Was nothing sacred? "I always behave."

"No, you don't. In fact, you never behave."

"Merlin, Granger," he rolled his eyes. "You dragged me in here just to lecture me about proper behavior at a Quidditch game?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes," she said again. "I really mean it. I don't want Scorpius thinking that it's ever alright to act like," here, she appeared to struggle for the correct word, "like a child."

"Hermione, he is a child. He's four."

"Yes, and that's exactly why I want you to act like a grown-up! He worships you, Draco," she reached out and trailed her fingers along the line of his jaw.

How could he say _no_ to that? "Alright, fine." Then, regaining some semblance of manly pride, he added, "I mean, he does mirror whatever I do, so I'll show him exactly how a wizard behaves in this kind of situation."

Hermione allowed her head to drop forward to rest against Draco's chest. She inhaled deeply and let out a sigh. "Good. Thank you, Draco. I mean it."

"Of course," he placed a chaste kiss on the top of her head and smoothed his hand down her curls.

"I mean," she continued, still pressing her face into his robes. "It's only Quidditch."

Draco pulled his hand back like it had been burned. "_Only?! D_o you have any idea how important this game is?" 

Hermione looked up, eyes narrowed, and opened her mouth to answer, but a loud BANG! echoed around them, setting all the coats around them swinging. 

They both looked up.

"That'll be Scorpius," observed Hermione. "Whose turn is it?"

"Yours," Draco told her. "I took care of the stampeding beds last night."

Hermione sighed and wrenched open the door to the coat closet.

* * *

"Harry," said Ginny, turning to look at him. She had Albus balanced on one hip and a tote bag full of Quidditch supplies, lawn chairs, and other useful items slung over the other shoulder.

Harry, who had been trying to wrestle whatever James had out of his hands, paused to look up at his wife. Her expression was severe; her lips pressed together in a thin, determined line. Harry froze. "What is it?"

"If you act at this game the way you acted at the last game, you'll be sleeping in one of the spare rooms for a week."

"A week?" Harry echoed, wiping the beetle bits on the leg of his jeans.

"At least," Ginny replied, nodding.

James took this opportunity to put whatever he'd been holding in his mouth.

Harry sighed then, with seeker-fast reflexes, snatched James' preoccupation out of his mouth. It was about 60% of a beetle. He stood, lifting James with a groan. "Fine. Let's just get going before we're late."

* * *

"Come on, Little Hippogriffs!" called Draco from the front-drive, jogging out to the waiting black carriage. The two brilliantly-white pegasuses eyed him lackadaisically from their harnesses as he threw open the door and dumped the duffel of Quidditch supplies inside.

He turned to grin at his wife and only son as they exited the house, holding hands and each gripping a book. Hermione was reading something complicated about charms, but Scorpius was holding his father's battered old copy of Babbity Rabbit. Draco puffed his chest in pride.

"Oh, for heavens' sake," Hermione murmured. "Why can't we just apparate like we normal people?"

"Important day, love! Got to arrive in style—It's the Malfoy way!"

"I'm not riding in that," murmured Narcissa coolly, coming up to stand beside her daughter-in-law. She pushed her cat's eye sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and stared out at the carriage. "It's tacky. Tell him to take it back."

Hermione grimaced, repositioned her book under her arm, and sided with the Malfoy who had pissed her off the least so far today. "You're welcome to meet us there, Narcissa. Come on, Scorpius, or we'll be late." She tugged him forward and called out to Draco, "Did you remember his car seat?"

The Malfoy-Granger family arrived at the pee-wee Quidditch pitch a full half-hour before anyone else, which was a good thing because Tweelee, the family house-elf and carriage driver, had been unable to see well enough over her mass of Little Hippogriff merchandise to land the carriage properly. It bounced down in the middle of the pee-wee pitch and came to a shuddering halt only a few feet from the bleachers.

The carriage door burst open before Tweelee had figured out how to get down from her perch to open it for them.

"I am never riding in one of those things again for as long as I live," gasped Narcissa, glasses askew, as she staggered from the carriage.

Hermione came next, her hair frizzier than it had been when they'd left the house that morning, her eyes wild, her book held in a white-knuckled grip.

Draco came last, holding Scorpius in one arm and the duffel of supplies in the other. The two were giggling; their faces close together, their noses scrunched in identical, mischievous grins.

"So, what did you think, son?" 

Scorpius giggled and threw his small arms around his father's neck, dropping his own book in the process.

Hermione picked it up with shaking hands. "Never again, Draco," she hissed.

"Why mama?" asked Scorpius, his brown eyes wide.

"Yeah," echoed Draco, his gray eyes expanding to match his child's, "Why?"

"It had a glass bottom, Draco! Glass bottom!"

"Yeah," he said, as Scorpius squirmed. Draco put him down, and the boy immediately ran toward his grandmother, who was already sitting straight-backed on the wooden bleacher, conjuring a fan. "But I didn't think either of you would mind too much since it wasn't like you were going to fall out. And if you didn't look down, you wouldn't even have noticed."

"Except the two of you kept going on about what towns we were going over," she snarled through clenched teeth. "I thought Narcissa was going to have a heart attack! How could you do that to your mother?"

He shrugged and glanced guiltily toward the stands, "I didn't think she'd mind that much."

Hermione opened her mouth to spit out a scathing retort when a series of loud CRACKs and POPs heralded the arrival of the other families.

"Alright!" Draco punched his fist into the air and ran after Scorpius. "Come on; it's time to warm up!"

* * *

The Pygmy Puffs arrived as a team on the field ten minutes before start-up, and Ginny slid onto the bleacher next to Hermione, moving Draco's black dragon-skin duffel and setting her tote on top of it with a sigh.

Ginny took one look at the cover of the tome Hermione was reading this week before, "Fancy a bet on who will blow first this time?" she said

Hermione slid her bookmark back into place and then stared out at the field where Parent Volunteers were helping to wrangle the Little Hippogriffs and Pygmy Puffs into lines for the inter-team pre-game handshake. The entire process was made ridiculous by the tiny brooms the players used. Draco was standing proudly behind Scorpius, trying to keep the squirming child in line. Harry was on the other side, similarly trying to wrangle James. Hermione caught Harry's eye and waved. He waved back, losing his grip on James in the process, who went wheeling off to one side.

The Chosen One chased a child who was zooming along after what appeared to be a grasshopper.

"Hopefully neither," Hermione said with a grimace. "I'm hoping that this is just a normal, quiet game."

Ginny cackled. "With those two? It never is."

* * *

"Ok, champ," said Harry quietly into James' ear, "just a quick handshake. Don't make eye contact. Don't do anything. Just act natural. Don't let that Malfoy git say anything to intimidate you."

Harry paused to watch his eldest child chew the insect contemplatively. "And don't tell your mother I said 'git.'"

When the time came for James and Scorpius to shake hands, green eyes had locked on gray. Draco and Harry eyed each other coldly.

"Potter," sneered Draco, his hand on his son's shoulder.

"Malfoy," growled Harry, holding James' broom in place.

"Scorpius," said Draco, and Scorpius obediently stuck out his hand. "Other hand, son," mumbled Draco out of the corner of his mouth. Scorpius switched hands.

"James, shake," started Harry and then looked at Scorpius for the first time. "Malfoy, why is your kid wearing a helmet?"

Draco grimaced and rolled his eyes, "Hermione. She- Potter! Your kid is feeding my kid an insect! Stop him—we don't know if he's allergic!"

* * *

Hermione glanced around. "Ginny, where's Ron and Luna?"

"Gonna be late," Ginny said, squinting out at the field. "Rose's got a doctor's appointment or...oh hey! I think my kid just stuck a bug in your kid's mouth!"

Hermione gasped and quickly tried to locate her spawn on the field. "Oh, no," she murmured, "we don't know if he's allergic!"

Thankfully, Draco had already swept Scorpius into his arms and was attempting to wipe his mouth out with the sleeve of his robe.

And, with that, the greetings were finished. The whistle sounded to signal both teams to begin the momentous task of taking up their positions.

* * *

"Good afternoon!" boomed a cheery voice from the opposite side of the Quidditch pitch. "I'm Teddy Tonks, and I'll be doing your commentary today because this was the only job I could get for the summer."

"Teddy," ground out Andromeda's voice over the loudspeaker.

"Sorry, Gran. And it looks like they've released the snitch. There it goes. It's hovering around the Pygmy Puff's goal post if anyone is listening to this."

"TEDDY!"

Hermione glanced over to the goalpost and, sure enough, hovering about four feet off the ground was the enormous pee-wee version of the golden snitch.

She glanced back at the center of the field, where parent volunteers were guiding the players into a rough approximation of starting positions.

She was already nervous.

Logically, she knew this shouldn't be an unsafe game: The brooms were charmed to go no higher than six feet, a cushioning spell had already been placed on the whole field, the snitch was huge, the beaters had foam bats, the foam bludgers were charmed not to actually hit anyone, the quaffle was fluffy, and Scorpius was wearing a helmet. Still, Hermione watched the preparations with her fingers in her mouth. 

"It'll be ok," Ginny said bracingly. "My whole family played little league."

"Have there ever been any injuries?"

"Of course not," Ginny said, knocking her knee into Hermione's. Then, "Well, yes," she corrected, "But nothing that couldn't be mended eventually."

* * *

"Ok, Scorpius," Draco murmured. "I'm not allowed to actually tell you where the snitch is since you're supposed to find it for yourself, but go straight to the goal post, and don't let the Potter brat get in your way." He placed a kiss on his son's forehead. "And please don't fall off your broom. Your mum will murder me if you get hurt."

"What's murder?"

"In my future, if I answer that. Never mind. Just get the snitch and don't fall off."

The whistle sounded.

"And they're off," boomed Teddy. "Well, most of them. Amycus Belby of the Little Hippogriffs appears to be having some trouble getting off the—there we go! Parent Volunteer Cho Smith of the Pygmy Puffs has graciously helped Bilby get up and running and—nope, now he's spinning in a circle. Mrs. Smith, if you could—thank you very much. Oh, and now he appears to have puked all over volunteer Smith. Let that be a lesson to you, folks: Don't feed your kids before these games because accidents happen.

And Merryweather Urquart of the Pygmy Puffs has the quaffle. And he's dropped it. And now he's picking his nose. Will anyone pick the quaffle up? Who knows!"

On the sidelines, Merryweather Urquart Senior dropped his head into his hands.

Draco paced back and forth like a caged animal as Scorpius drifted in lazy circles around the Pygmy Puff goalposts, and Harry stood, his arms folded over his chest, as James drifted low over the field, scanning for something that Harry hoped was the golden snitch, but in all reality was probably more bugs. Harry didn't know why his eldest child liked eating insects. The one time Harry had asked, James had told him (with all the patience of an expert talking to a layman) that bugs were "crunchy" and "then squished." Harry wondered what he'd been doing wrong as a parent. Everything, probably.

"I can't believe it! Xiaoyun Smith of the Pygmy Puffs has actually picked up the quaffle! He's heading for the goalposts, and he's slowing down, probably going to drop—no! He's still going, and—I CAN'T BELIEVE IT—Xiaoyun scores! The wrong goalpost, sure, so technically, that's probably a point for the Hippogriffs, but Xiaoyun Smith of the Pygmy Puffs scores the first real, legitimate point of the season! Ten points to the Hippogriffs and five points to the Pygmy Puffs for actually having the player who scored! Good job, Xiaoyun!"

Cho and Zacharias were shrieking in pride, hugging each other.

Draco stopped his pacing and stared at the happy couple. "Is he crying?"

Harry looked over. "He is," Harry confirmed.

"Well," Draco said with a shrug. "His kid scored. Pretty big day."

Teddy continued to narrate the gameplay. "He's got a future in pro quidditch, that one does!"

Neither James nor Scorpius had ever scored a goal. Not even by accident. Not even with help.

"Smith's kid is six, though, isn't he?" asked Harry.

Draco's eyes slanted toward his. "A little old for little league."

Harry nodded in agreement.

"Now the quaffle is falling and—yep—it's hit the snitch, bounced off, and now they are both sitting on the ground at the base of the Pygmy Puff goalposts. Someone might want to go pick that up. Anyone? Anyone? Ok, guess we're abandoning that line of play for now.

"Let's take a look at the rest of the field. The Hippogriff beaters, Aaron Isaacs and Aaron Beety, appear to be hitting each other with their bats. No need to worry, folks! This seems to be in good fun, as they are both laughing and—no, now Aaron Isaacs is crying. Someone go get him down before he—there he goes. Someone put him back on his broom, please! Oops, it looks like the other Aaron is crying too. Ah—thank you, volunteer Murata!"

"The Pygmy Puff beater, Baruch Goldstein, is hitting the Hippogriff goalpost with his bat. That's what that noise is, folks: the beater beating the goal post. Looks like Pygmy Puff chaser Martin Theresa is going over to see what all the fuss is about—no, actually, I think he's just spotted a butterfly and—OH MY GOD! Pygmy Puff beater's bat has made contact with Martin's head, and he is crying! Someone get out there to see if he's ok."

Anthony Goldstein was hurrying out towards the crying child, side-by-side with Abigail Theresa.

"Looks like he needs one of those Malfoy helmets, ey, folks?"

"TEDDY!" Boomed Andromeda.

Draco turned his head toward the loudspeaker, mortification on his face. Harry was doubled over in laughter, one hand on the side of the bleachers to keep from falling over. Draco turned to look at the giant clock. Thankfully, pee-wee matches only lasted for forty-five minutes.

"Come on, Scorpius!" Draco murmured under his breath. Sure, the Hippogriffs were in the lead, and the Puffs weren't likely to catch up before time ran out, but Scorpius had it in him to catch the snitch. Draco just knew it. No one would make fun of his helmet if he made a play. Any play. Anything at all.

Several feet away from the still-crying Theresa, Scorpius was wagging the tail of his broom back and forth, completely oblivious to the game going on around him. Draco saw something dark streaking toward his son out of the corner of his eye but did not even have a chance shout before it barrelled into Scorpius's chest.

"We've had a collision! Our first of the day, folks, but sure not to be our last! Scorpius Malfoy and James Potter have collided in midair! Our two seekers are down and waiting to be put back on their brooms!"

"FOUL!" Called Harry and Draco at the same time, both storming onto the field.

Both men reached for wands they'd surrendered to their wives before the match. 

"You'll pay for that, Potter," spat Draco through clenched teeth, untangling his giggling child from Potter's.

"Gonna tell your father about this, Malfoy?" Harry shot back, setting his spawn on the broom.

"No," Draco grinned wickedly. "I'm going to tell my wife that you taught Scorpius the word 'git.'"

Harry blanched.

"What's a Git, daddy?"

Draco's smirk widened. "I'd watch my back if I were you, Potter. And keep your bug-eating spawn away from my son."

* * *

"And they're back on their brooms, folks! It looks like they're A-ok! Knew they would be, at least Scorpius with that helmet."

"Teddy."

* * *

"Hello, Hermione, Ginny," hummed Luna, sliding in on Ginny's other side. The two other women scooted down to make room for her.

"Luna!" Hermione beamed, glad to talk over yet another mention of the helmet. "So glad you could make it! How was Rose's appointment?"

"Oh, lovely," Luna gave Hermione a serene smile, "Now she's all caught up on her Gilby-wot vaccinations.

Hermione raised her eyebrows but only said, "That's nice. Where's Ron?"

"Getting Rose ready to play, of course," Luna gestured downfield where Ron was running full-tilt onto the field, a broom hefted over his head like a javelin, a tiny red-headed figure atop it. "They spent all morning talking about strategy. It was very boring for me."

"And looks like Rose is coming onto the field—no, it looks like she's—Blimey. Is he throwing her—he IS throwing her!"

Sure enough, Ron hurled the broom bearing his only child like a spear toward the Pygmy Puff goalposts while Rose shrieked "THROW ME DADDDYYYY" at the top of her lungs.

"And that's a point for Ron Weasley," said a flabbergasted Teddy, "I've never seen someone score a point with a player before. Does that count? No, I guess not, since she didn't have a quaffle, and the person who threw her was not actually a player. False alarm. Wishful thinking on my part. It looks like he was just trying to get her in position quick.

"Hippogriff chaser Alexi Zabini has the quaffle. No- never mind. I think that's actually a bludger and...and he's trying to eat it. And now he's dropped it."

Draco looked back at Blaise in the stands and gave him a thumbs up. It was a nice try, anyway.

"Pygmy Puff seeker James Potter is heading toward the ground, closely followed by Hippogriff seeker Scorpius Malfoy! It looks like they've seen something, folks! I think it's—"

James Potter evened out, flapping wings clutched in his chubby fist. Scorpius pulled up alongside him.

"Yeah. It's the butterfly that Theresa was going after before! He's got it, folks! And he's eating it. Think we all saw that one coming, folks. But will he share? That is the question!"

"NO!" Shrieked Hermione and Draco in unison, as a fraction of the butterfly changed hands in midair "We don't know if he's allergic!"

A timeout was called to wrestle the half-a-butterfly from the young Malfoy heir.

* * *

"And we're back, people," came Teddy's very bored voice over the loudspeaker, "this might be the most exciting game yet this season, and we may have a real winner for this game, which might be a first for the league. Anyway, Zabini won the rock-paper-scissors for the quaffle, and they're off! Zabini has the quaffle. Pygmy Huff beater Goldstein is coming up behind him. And—yep—Goldstein has hit Zabini on the bottom with the bat."

"FOUL!" roared Blaise from the stands, trying to rush onto the field and struggling against Pansy's appropriately-timed leg-locking jinx. Draco didn't want to involve himself with this one, but he was waiting for one of the coaches or refs to call foul. For some reason, the call didn't come.

"Goldstein now has the quaffle, and he's heading for the goalposts—the CORRECT ONE, folks!—and Rose Weasely is coming up behind him, and she just pulled his hair and—did she bite him? Gran, I think she bit him. Is that legal?"

"Teddy," came Andromeda's weary voice, "just focus on the game."

"Sorry, Gran. Anyway, Rose has the quaffle, and she's taking it back toward her own goal—"

"OTHER GOAL, ROSIE!!"

"—and now she's changed direction and is heading back toward the appropriate goal. I think she's heard her dad, folks…"

Draco grimaced. Of _course_ she had heard him. Everyone from here to China had probably heard Ron Weasely.

"And she's scored! In the right goal! Holy shit, folks!

"TEDDY!"

"Sorry, Gran. Rose Weasley has scored! In the right goal! That brings the score to fifteen-ten, Pygmy Puffs to Little Hippogriffs!"

"Foul!" shouted Anthony Goldstein.

"Foul!" screamed Blaise Zabini, who had finally had the presence of mind to undo his wife's jinx instead of struggling like a lunatic.

"That is the seventh time she's bitten someone this season," growled Draco Malfoy, "Why is she even still allowed to play?"

He was sure that he had said it quietly. Much quieter, at least, than Anthony or Blaise, who were currently running onto the field to their respective, bawling offspring.

Unfortunately, the only person Ronald Weasley heard was Draco Malfoy.

"Jealous, Malfoy?" sneered Ron, his ears already bright red, and his chest puffed out in obnoxious pride.

"Jealous?" he leered back. "Of your little ginger maniac? Please. Don't make me laugh. Someone should put a muzzle on the little beast if they insist on letting her fly around with normal children. I doubt your whole family could afford the vet bills that come with animal bites like that." He knew he had gone too far before the words had even finished leaving his mouth, and later, he would say it was the sting of the ten points talking, but, at that moment, he was seeing red.

Before he could blink, Ron had crossed the space between them and had grabbed Draco by the collar. "Take that back," he snarled.

* * *

Four rows of bleachers away from the emerging drama, Hermione turned to look at Luna. "Incidentally, did you manage to get his wand this time?"

"Oh, yes," Luna said dreamily, and pulled Ron's wand out of her over-stuffed patchwork handbag, "I don't think he even noticed."

"You owe me five galleons, Ginny," she said, holding out a hand. "Pay up."

* * *

"Or you'll what, Weasel-bee? Bite me?" Draco couldn't back down now.

"Shove off, Malfoy," piped up Potter, the Boy Who Refused to Stay Out of Draco's Business.

"His kid fouled someone on your team, too! I thought you Gryffindors were too good for that kind of thing. 'By any means' should be more my area, shouldn't it? But you've always been a Slytherin at heart, haven't you, Potty?"

An important fact: Hermione Jean Granger was bullied in elementary school and worried her precocious little Scorpius would face similar hardships (and let's face it—his name was Scorpius Paul Malfoy-Granger, his mother made him wear a helmet everywhere he went, his front teeth were bordering on beaver-ish, and he'd taken recently to swanning around like his father. He might as well have had "Kick Me" tattooed across his helmeted forehead). Therefore, Hermione Jean Granger had enrolled Scorpius in a Child-Parent Karate class in Muggle London and, for going on two years, Draco had been forced to attend these lessons with Scorpius, where he had learned a thing or two about wandless self-defense.

Thus, when Ron Weasley threw the first punch at Draco's pointed nose, Draco ducked before the blow connected and slammed his fist into Weasley's solar plexus.

Harry came at him, then, and groping for his (still confiscated) wand in the empty holster under his arm. Swearing softly under his breath, he balled his hand into a fist instead.

* * *

"Ooh! Did you see that punch?" Ginny clapped when Draco's fist made contact.

Hermione grimaced. She recognized that kata. Scorpius had been practicing it against Mimzy the Stuffed Purple Dinosaur several weeks ago.

"It was very well executed," agreed Luna.

Ginny cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Not the money-maker, Malfoy! I have decided to bestow godfather status on your sorry behind, and I can still change my mind!" as Draco lifted his left for a kick.

Draco and Harry both turned to ogle at Ginny in the stands, Draco on one leg, Harry mid-punch.

Ginny pointed down at her bulging stomach, shuffling Albus so that they both could get a good look at it.

Hermione turned to Ginny. "Really?"

"Of course. Luna and Ron got James, Fred and Angelina god Albus, and you two are going to get the next one."

Harry recovered first and punched Malfoy right on his slackened jaw.

Hermione winced.

Ginny whooped. "Oh, did you see that? I didn't know Harry still had it in him. My man, everyone!"

"Speaking of punching my husband in the face," Hermione said by way of sequitur, "I have something to tell you."

"And Weasley has Malfoy by the scalp and is punching him in the stomach. Now Malfoy has grabbed Weasley's fist and—did you see that flip, people?! Potter's in the mix, trying to separate them and—ooh! Elbowed in the face by your best friend. That has to hurt, folks."

"Teddy! The match!"

"Right Gran. Sorry. Anyway, the quaffle is still on the ground, and Theresa is back to spinning in a circle. Someone stop him before he throws up again. Pygmy—"

"No, Teddy! Look!"

All eyes returned to the field.

Aaron Isaacs, the Little Hippogriff beater, held out his hand toward the Pygmy Puff goalpost.

The crowd held its collective breath.

Aaron Isaacs grabbed the golden snitch, which had been gently pinging itself against the aforementioned goalpost for the last thirty-six minutes and seventeen seconds (according to the countdown clock).

The stands went wild! Parents screamed, Teddy shouted, and Aaron Isaacs started to cry.

The first parents onto the field were Harry, Ron, and Draco, who had been locked in close combat only a few feet from the goalpost. Their eyes were fixed on each of their offspring. Harry sported a black eye; Draco, a split lip and bloody knuckles; and Ron was still bent double, hobbling forward behind the other two.

"The Hippogriffs win! I can't believe it! By points, not just the usual end-of-game coin flip! Little Hippogriffs take the game, one-hundred and sixty points to fifteen!"

"You did it, mate!" shouted Draco, pulling Scorpius off his broom and swinging him in a happy circle. "You won it, son!" He didn't even care that smiling like an idiot made blood dribble down his lip and onto his only child's helmet.

"Daddy, I am going to make sick!"

Draco stopped spinning. He did not stop grinning.

"Well done, Scorpius," Hermione said quietly, coming up and plucking her wriggling child from his father's grasp.

"Were you watching, mum?" he asked.

She smiled, "Of course I was, my love."

"I ate three bugs and one of James's boogers!" He held up four fingers, "And Daddy gave me a hug for it."

Hermione blanched and shared a horrified look with Draco.

* * *

"JAMES SIRIUS POTTER GET THAT OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!" Harry shouted as he sprinted toward his eldest child.

A still-wriggling, particularly poisonous-looking frog was sticking out of the side of James' mouth.

"That is not a bug!" As the words left his mouth, Harry wondered how his life had gotten to this point—where "it's not a bug" was a valid argument to keep his child from probably poisoning himself.

James took one look at his father's cracked glasses and purpling eye and screamed. The frog dropped to the ground as he flew as fast as his little hover-broom would take him away from his father.

Ginny was hurrying as fast as her extremely pregnant body would allow after her husband and eldest child, Albus giggling as he bounced on her hip.

* * *

"Don't cry, Princess," cooed Ron gently as Rose rocketed toward him, bawling her large blue eyes out. He let out a soft _oof_ as her broom connected with his already-sore sternum. "Hey, hey, you did great. Really, really great. It doesn't matter that they won. Oh, please stop crying," he begged because as he reminded her of the outcome of the game, her sobs redoubled in strength.

He looked beseechingly at Luna, who was gliding toward them, a look of complete serenity on her face.

"And you gave that Zabini prat a right good bite, so it's still a victory in my book," he told the top of her head as she sobbed into his shoulder, still sitting astride her broom.

"There, there," Luna said airily, patting her daughter's knee. "There's no need to cry. There will be many more quidditch games, Rosie-Posie, and you don't have to win them all, but I suspect you'll win more than you'll lose in the end."

Ron gave her an incredulous look. "Is that supposed to be comforting?"

But apparently, it was. Rose sniffled one more and then turned her tear-streaked face to her mother. "Are you sure?" Rose asked, her bottom lip wobbling dangerously.

"As sure as I am that there are Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in the Adirondacks."

Neither Ron nor Rose could locate a single 'Adirondack' on a map or had seen a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, but Luna sounded pretty sure, so they figured she was.

* * *

Once the excitement had died down, and everyone on each team stopped crying, screaming, laughing, or running away from their parents, the members of both sides settled into the bleachers for the end-of-game award ceremony.

Draco liked to think that the winners got trophies, and the losers got badges of shame, but, as Hermione loved to remind him, everyone got the same Teamwork award after every single game.

The entire process generally took about as long as the game itself. Sometimes longer.

James and Scorpius were sitting next to each other, sandwiched between their mothers. The boys were squirming and giggling quietly, playing some game only they understood. Rose sat between her parents behind them, casting shy looks at Scorpius and occasionally kicking the back of James' head and pretending she hadn't been the one to do it.

"It was too you," James said with great conviction, rubbing the back of his skull and glaring at her.

"No one kicked me," volunteered Scorpius.

"No one would ever kick you, Scorpius," Rose replied coyly, blushing so deeply that her freckles were invisible.

"Gross!" James stuck out his tongue and wrinkled his tiny nose at his cousin, "Rose loves Scorpius!"

"Do not!" shot Rose, kicking him in the head again.

"You don't?" Now Scorpius looked like he was going to cry.

"Oh my God, my child is a sap," Draco mumbled to Hermione.

Instead of deigning to answer, she addressed Luna instead. "Aren't they darling?"

"Oh, yes," Luna agreed dreamily.

"Malfoy-Granger, Scorpius." And Scorpius went up to collect his little trophy, sniffling and wiping his nose.

When he returned to his seat, Ron leaned forward and clapped him hard on the shoulder. "Good one, big guy!" He gave Scorpius a thumbs up. "Well played."

Draco looked at Ron like he had sprouted an extra head.

"What?" Ron barked gruffly. "Just because his dad's, well, you, doesn't mean that the kid's off. Takes after my side of the family, with flying like that."

Draco raised one pale eyebrow at Weasley. "I feel the need to point out, Weasley, that my child is not related to you in any capacity whatsoever. Thank Merlin."

Ron just shrugged. "Close enough."

Draco opened his mouth to say something, couldn't think of anything, and closed it again. Beside him, Hermione smiled.

"Potter, James" was called up next and, sometime after that, "Weasley, Rose."

* * *

"Good job, everyone," called the head referee, and the parents cheered.

"Took long enough," groaned Ron, rising and stretching his arms above his head.

"Indeed," agreed Narcissa, who had stopped watching the game halfway through and gone to nap in the carriage. Tweelee, the house-elf, had gone to wake her up after the award ceremony ended.

"Son, I believe I promised you ice cream," Draco said as he stood.

"Yeah!" Scorpius crowed, "Ice cream! Can we read books while we eat? Can we bring some home for Twee? Can I get three scoops? Can—"

Draco held up a hand to silence his son. For the first time in as long as the boy had been alive, the gesture worked. A smug smile curled up the edges of Draco's mouth. His child was _much_ better behaved than all the others. Scorpius was clearly superior in every way to all other children everywhere.

"Miss Weasley," said Draco, turning to look at Rose, who was holding her father's hand, "Mr. Potter," he turned to look at James, "Would you two do us the honor of accompanying us to Florean Fortescue's for some celebratory ice cream? Assuming your parents are amenable, of course."

Neither James nor Rose knew what amenable meant, but they both cheered and turned imploring eyes on their respective mothers anyway.

"Prat," grumbled Ron to Harry when he thought no one else was listening. "He knew we couldn't get out of it if he asked the kids."

"Yeah," murmured Harry out of the corner of his mouth. "Wonder if he's doing it to get to us or to get back on Hermione's good side."

* * *

That evening, "That was very sweet of you, Draco," Hermione said softly, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist.

Draco had just returned from reading Scorpius a fourth bedtime story. Honestly, that child was getting more and more demanding by the day. "What was?" he asked distractedly, undoing his cuffs wearily.

"Taking everyone out for ice cream. I don't think they expected you to pay."

Draco only grunted in reply. Hermione's hands had curled under the hem of his untucked shirt and were moving in lazy circles across his stomach. He tensed his abs unconsciously. "Can't let them pay if I invited them out. What was I—raised in a barn?"

Hermione laughed and kissed the side of his neck.

"Does this mean you're not mad about the fight?" he asked, turning in her arms so that he could look down at her. Merlin, he loved this witch.

"No, I'm furious," she replied, toying with the top button of his shirt. "Although I must admit, I was glad to see you've been taking your karate lessons seriously, and you did listen to Ginny when she asked you not to punch Harry in the face anymore. That earns you some redemption points." She undid the button.

Draco swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry. "Good to know. How many points are needed before redemption is complete?"

"Quite a few more," she replied and undid the next button on his shirt.

He ran his hands up the outside of her arms, buried his fingers into the curls at the base of her neck. He didn't kiss her—not yet—but leaned so close he could smell her minty toothpaste, then nuzzled the point where her neck met her clavicle. "I suppose I'll have to work pretty hard. How would you like me to make it up to you?" He murmured, lips to her skin.

"We'll get to that," she said. "But first, I have something to tell you."

He brushed his lips along her neck. Still not a kiss, but closer. "Tell me," he said. "Anything you want."

She shivered. Her fingers scraped along his scalp, and his breath snagged in his throat. "Well, that depends."

"On what?"

"On if you want to discuss names before or after."

Draco froze. "Come again?" He asked eventually. He pulled Hermione away from him, holding her at arm's length and looking her in the eye, not daring to hope that she meant what he thought she meant.

"Baby names. Before or after sex?" she clarified, and now she was smiling—no, beaming at him.

"Baby names."

"Yes."

"As in, names for a child or children other than the one we currently possess?"

"Exactly."

"Is this about house-elves?"

She laughed. "No, Draco."

"Have you adopted…something?"

"Nope."

"Is this a nasty, horrible joke?"

"Draco," Hermione said, taking his face in her hands, "I am pregnant with our second child, and I want to avoid a repeat of World War Baby Boy." She was, of course, referring to the twelve days that St. Mungo's had held Scorpius ransom until Draco and Hermione could agree on a name. In the end, Narcissa had named him without telling either of his parents and forged both of their names on the paperwork. Scorpius for the Black naming tradition, Paul for Hermione's father, and Malfoy-Granger because neither of his parents would have had it any other way. They both thought it was perfect, anyway, even if after four years they hadn't managed to come up with a single good nickname between them.

"Are you lying?"

"Draco!"

"Please just answer the question."

"No, I am not lying. I took a pregnancy test last night."

"Are you sure you cast the spell right? You didn't rely on one of those little muggle sticks, did you?"

She gave him a sour look.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I was waiting to see how you'd behave at the quidditch match today."

"So I behaved?"

"Not at all, but I figured you'd earned it after you took everyone out for ice cream."

Draco was no longer listening. Filled with joy and hope and unbridled adoration for his beautiful, kind, smart, pregnant wife, he brought his lips down onto hers and swept her up in his arms, carrying her toward their bed.

* * *

"This is grand!" he said much later, fishing her hair out of his mouth, as they lay tangled and sweaty in their bed.

"What is?" Hermione replied, trailing lazy circles on his chest with her fingertips.

"Well, Scorpius will play on the Little Hippogriffs until he turns eight, and by that time, Cassiopeia will be old enough to take his place!"

"Cassiopeia?" repeated Hermione, lifting her head to look at her husband seriously.

"Yeah. I figure it'll be a girl since we already have a boy."

Hermione waited for a beat to see if Draco would add _just kidding_ to the end of his assertion. When he didn't, "That doesn't even make sense," she said.

"Sure it does. We already had a boy, so statistically speaking, the next one's going to be a girl."

"I can tell you haven't had a single math class since you turned eleven."

"Who needs math when you have _magic_?"

She just stared at him for a long moment. Then, with a shake of her head, she said, "And we're not naming our second child Cassiopeia."

"Why not? It's a brilliant name! We can even call her Cassie!"

"She'll get teased mercilessly."

"Says the woman named Hermione."

"To the child of two people named Lucius and Narcissa. Whose name is Draco."

"Are you insinuating that there's something wrong with my name? I'll have you know that _Draco_ is the noblest constellation in the sky. Everyone knows it's true."

Hermione flopped back onto the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. "And how do you know she _or he_ will even want to play quidditch?"

Draco gave her a haughty look. "Any child of mine—regardless of gender—will play quidditch and will enjoy it."


End file.
